


One Predicts a Riot

by jinglebellsisawesome



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: All Human, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Ballroom Dancing, Courtship, F/M, Out of Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7955260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinglebellsisawesome/pseuds/jinglebellsisawesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Isabella Swan has a notorious reputation that specialises in, among other things: shaming ill-fated suitors. But when a certain Mr Edward Cullen tries his hand at taming her, will she finally learn her lesson? One expects the unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Predicts a Riot

There are two rules Lady Isabella Swan strongly abides by when it comes down to the _beloved_ (read: disastrously catastrophic and painstakingly horrific) subject of _courtship_ \- and the subsequent _marriage_ one is then forced to attend; alive, preferably. Although, in this fair lady's humble opinion, a funeral would be far more pleasing to the eye - even one's own would suffice.

One: The _marriage_ and its predecessor of _courtship_ must categorically not be that of an arranged nature. Lady Isabella believes, quite naively one may add, that the percentage of happily married partners _across the continents_ if one were given free reign, so to speak, to decide for _oneself_ whom they wish to tie _themselves_ to for the rest of _their_ lives in the eyes of God. Unsurprisingly, she goes on to add, however, few of her fellow rich neighbours would go so far to agree with the lady's quite radical view on the matter. _A terrible waste_ , she once noted.

And, two: The _lucky_ gentleman who has the _fortunate pleasure_ to align the rest of their lives with the rest of Lady Isabella's over here must completely and irrevocably not be _even one_ of the following:

\- Possessed by one's self; one would not be able to compute the quantity of potential suitors Lady Isabella has glared down at that exclaim over nothing except how much profit their businesses make annually or how many ladies they have _fawning_ over them, drool all but dripping from their gaping mouths. One such occurrence happened wherein a particular _unlucky_ soul chatted away for the better half of the morning about how he had his hair styled a particular, fashionable way.

(Needless to say, he hasn't been spotted in any self-respecting lady's company ever since then.)

\- Arrogant. The word just says it all, Lady Isabella often remarks.

\- Highly-profitable businessmen. The Lady can not stand even the notion of the hypothetical insufferable gentlemen tittering away about how much _more_ his high-brow business makes as opposed to her family's own. She lays claim that her reasoning behind her statement stems from the love for her family's business rather than a secretive, hidden streak of competitiveness; a trait most unbecoming for a young lady in this day and age. One, obviously, may choose to believe whichever option one prefers.

\- Smugness.

\- Stubbornness. However, in my very humble opinion, the deciding factor behind this results from the unwillingness in her own self to witness the characteristic that, arguably, is her most prominent.

\- An intelligence level below that of a crying babe. Lady Isabella often professes her desire to engage in reasonable tones of conversation with her _chosen one_.

\- Facial hair that converts the entirety of one's face into that of a mangy dog's. Although the fair maiden has humorously remarked on several notable occasions that perhaps, on the contrary, a nice dosage of facial hair to disguise the gentlemen's face may improve the quality of it, she understands that there is a limit.

\- Argumentative with a very distinct attitude problem. The last thing Lady Isabella wishes for is a suitor who possess a fondness for _polite debating_ with her; least of all on trivial affairs.

\- A thick, heavily pronounced accent. Now, let me just point out that the young lady is not prejudiced against them. Not at all. It is just the small detail of being able to understand their sentences. The only accent Lady Isabella is fully able to decipher is French and that is primarily due to the fact that her Mother is natively French, which is where the lady learned the hard craft of comprehending entirely the gist of what her Mother was nattering on about. (Well, _sometimes..._ )

(As one can no doubt tell from these two important rules she dictates her life around, Lady Isabella feels quite strongly about this subject.)

And so perhaps that is why, as fate would ultimately have dealt it with the correct amount of irony to accompany it, there is a fairly tall fellow standing in the middle of Lady Isabella's dining room who, coincidentally, just so happens to take in all of her careful rules and regulations regarding this tender subject and then proceed to _break every single one of them_.

As one might already anticipate, the fair lady was not impressed with this display. One would almost certainly be able to recall the exact moment in which all smiles died. When war was mere moments away from wreaking havoc amongst the Swan's most beautiful household and blood was only seconds away from being shed.

Lady Isabella smiled.

"Oh, my goodness, gracious me," she exclaimed dramatically, eyelashes fluttering with every syllable to escape from her parted lips, her two dress-covered arms flapping about all left, right and centre. "Mother, Father, please introduce me to this _very_ fine specimen of a man."

Her Mother smiled down at her precious daughter, deeply thankful that she had managed find a well-matched suitor to cater to her daughter's ever need. The last few attempts she had made were, well, simply catastrophic to say the least, and so she was immensely grateful that this particular gentleman appeared to placate her only child.

Little did she realise, however, just how ill- _suited_ both her daughter and this mighty fine, strapping young gentleman really were. But, not to worry, she soon will.

It was Lady Isabella's Father who mustered up enough self-courage to take the brave step forward - and all in the good name of introductions. Needless to say, the man did feel slightly queasy, and that wasn't due to his very anxious nervous disposition. No. For the past three instances, Mr Swan had, rather heroically one must say, placed himself directly between his daughter and a perfectly adequate gentlemen suitor, it ended only in tears - on his part, of course - and so the poor man was bound to act just the _tiniest_ bit nervous. One believes he has earned that right.

However, one didn't anticipate the exact depth of his long-buried trauma.

"L-Lady Isabella," he began - _so far, so good_ , "i-it is with m-my ut-utmost pleas-ure th-that I-I-I intr-introduce yo-you to the-the good gentlemen st-standing he-here: M-Mr Edward Cul-Cullen, w-who, I am ve-very p-proud to ann-announce is to be-be your ne-new s-suit-suitor."

He appeared to have struggled enormously with that last word, bless him.

Mr Charlie Swan then proceeded, once his part was over and done with - thankfully with no major casualties this time; his nasty gunshot wound on his arm still flared up from time to time -, to all but shove the unknowing lady into the lean and _very_ muscular arms of the unfortunate gentleman before grabbing his equally scarred wife and making a quick getaway over to the door, which he then promptly locked. _For good measure_ he later defended.

But, none of that before uttering at the very pinnacle of his lungs: "I-I'm too y-young and inte-intelligent and downright beautiful to di-die!"

The distinctively cold sound of a lock snapping tightly and snugly shut filled the uncomfortable silence that had settled over the duo since her Father's unexpected outburst.

(One would also not be able to comprehend the thick, heavy tension left over in the atmosphere either. If one was to attempt to cut it with the sharpest knife on earth, it would probably snap right in half without so much as a second thought.)

"One was not aware one had affected one's parents that much," Lady Isabella muttered discreetly to herself as she began to pace frantically. If she were of a simpler mind, she would immediately cross over to the other side of the, frankly, _enormous_ dining room - _why, oh why, did one's parents decide buying a mansion was the best way forward?_ \- and check in numb disbelief whether the door was, in fact, locked. But, she managed to refrain from doing so.

She was British, for goodness's sakes; she would carry on.

"You know, you're good at that," the gentlemen drawled in a thick, heavy accent - Lady Isabella had almost forgotten he even existed for a moment there, as testimony to her Father's small display of stage fright. "Not as good as me, of course, but still - it's impressive."

Lady Isabella groaned. "You're American, one should have known." She paused from her pacing as the suitor's (read: terrible old creep serving as the bane of _this_ fair lady's existence in such a way not unlike that of an awfully ugly stepsister) words finally washed over her. Almost like a cold shower.

"What do you mean 'not as good' as you?" She quoted, her auburn eyes flashing in annoyance. "One is brilliant at the art of deceiving and is an excellent master of disguise."

"Wouldn't that be an 'excellent _mistress_ of disguise'?" He grinned at her fast-approaching rage. "And I wasn't aware that I was marrying a number. Whatever happened to the fair, notoriously devilish Lady Adelaide? Is she not available today?"

"Like you would even know about that," she sneered spitefully in reply. "Besides, if you must know, one is busy preparing oneself for the moment wherein one is propositioned by one's handsome prince."

"There is so much about that sentence that I do not understand." Mr Edward shook his head slightly, almost as if in mock-despair as the realisation of his situation has finally kicked in. "Now, you're practising to become the perfect royal for Prince...what is his name? Albert, Edward? What is it?"

The lady let out an undignified squeal at the horrific suggestions. "No, no, no. Edward is now reigning as King following Queen Victoria's death and Albert was his late father. The King's eldest son is George V, the Prince of Wales. Do you not know of the year you are currently living in? It is 1905 and Prince George VI is one's heart's desire," she tailed off wistfully.

"So I didn't know _one_ thing?" He complained with a heavy sigh before his facial features morphed into a much more cheeky nature as a new tactic sprang to mind.

"Ah, well," he whispered seductively as he crept slowly up behind the caged lady and made the somewhat daring move of wrapping his arms around her highly-strung frame.

"I believe that when the time comes to take your rightful place beside me in the marriage alter and seal our two lives together, you can teach me all about the reigning monarchs of...oh, what is this country named again?" He tested the waters slightly.

Just as strongly as one might have expected, Lady Isabella was quick to leap out of the man's arms and slap him harshly against his sharp cheekbones. (Although, one has to announce, one believes Lady Isabella was holding herself back with this particular suitor, although one has not found the reason why as of yet; one has no desire to reminisce on the last unlucky soul who had made the unfortunate attempt on the maiden.)

"What do you think you are doing?" She shrieked at him, "And whatever does your tiny, tiny, tiny little brain mean when it says that one will _marry_ it? One will accomplish no such feat!"

Mr Edward simply smirked at her stubbornness. "But you will. I win everybody over. I just can't help it. Ladies fawn over me and gentlemen desire to _be_ me." At that, he shrugged, "I do not know what comes over them."

Lady Isabella burst into hysterical laughter at his false, arrogant choice of words. "You truly think that _you_ stand a chance against _one_?" She questioned with mirth once the onslaught of giggles subsided.

"No, but I do believe that I have a fighting chance against _Miss Isabella Swan_ over here."

One would almost be impressed by the level of endurance Mr Edward Cullen was expressing as Lady Isabella gave him _that_ Look; the one which, in previous stances in a time long past, sent a long list of suitors running for their Mothers.

Or so the lady delicately detailed it being.

The lady in questioned glowered darkly. "You won't last the next two weeks, _love_. And that is _Lady_ Isabella Swan to you."

Mr Edward snaked an arm around her slim waist and held her up close to him as he breathed her in with an edge of charm.

"Oh, I don't think so, _Miss_ Isabella Swan."

Lady Isabella craned her neck to the left slightly, drifting toward the, rather forward, gentleman; so close that she could taste the garlic residue that lingered in his breath as it ghosted along her painted lips.

"No, you're right," she agreed with a seductive whisper and edged closer, "not two weeks. Not even close. Just ten days." She turned on her heel and stomped away.

"Ten days?"

"Yes. One is absolutely certain that you will provide suitable entertainment during this extended period of time."

" _Ten days_? Please," he scoffed. "I can have you falling for me by the end of the week."

He feigned blindness to Lady Isabella's murderous facial expressions.

"Here is how things are going to proceed, future wife. For the next seven days, you will watch me charm and smile and flirt my way throughout your mundane little existence and ensnare the hearts of everybody who has played a significant part in making up who you are."

"And then?"

"Well, and then, dear wifie," he mocked with a grin, "then we will get married."

Lady Isabella struggled to contain the peels of laughter that were threatening to emerge.

Once the young lady reigned in her amusement, she inquired, "One is sorry, young man, but-"

"One is forgiven." He chuckled.

All mirth died from her eyes. "You will not win," she hissed menacingly, all traces of prior amusement dissipated into thin air.

The bane of the young lady's existence merely shrugged a shoulder in a half-hearted gesture. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't. It's a game of chess, _Miss_ Isabella; one that I am sure you will not refuse."

A hand emerged from beneath the multiple layers of one Mr Edward's highly expensive clothing ( _needlessly_ expensive clothing in one's opinion - in quite a few people's actually), awaiting a formal handshake.

After much deliberation and careful planning time, Lady Isabella placed her own dainty against the rough hardness of her new suitor's.

"One will win," she vowed, "you will not."

The suitor chuckled with all the graces and virtues of a common street rat, "We shall see. Is this a deal then?"

"A deal," she spat out as she smacked his hand away from hers as if it burned.

One had just prayed as this encounter played out that she had not made the wrong decision.

* * *

**Day 1: A Nice, Pleasant Stroll amongst English Countryside**

_(read: the latest form of horrific torture)_

When Lady Isabella - on penalty of eternal damnation - had been instructed to accompany her over-eager suitor, she screamed.

And on does not mean a small, relatively shrill squeal that one often uses to depict an unfair scenario by that understatement. Not even remotely. Lady Isabella produced a throaty, earth-shattering, gravity-defying and gut-wrenching cry.

Honestly, thank you for asking, but one's ears are still recovering. Trust one, it was not a pleasant experience, to say the least.

However, the pain one felt previously at the fair lady's sorrow amounted to less than nothing when compared to the realisation that the _mutual_ friend and suitor, Mr Edward Cullen, fully anticipated Lady Isabella to prepare a nice picnic to accompany their "quiet stroll" in the good countryside; complete with a brilliant bouquet of flowers to add to the scenery. Oh, to pack some smelling salts.

(Apparently, Mr Edward suffers from a very bad case of "the faints" _._ One is under the impression that this... _disorder_ , as it were, relishes under extreme pressure combined with relatively low-level stress. That has given Lady Isabella some rather fascinating ideas in order to thwart her cunning suitor's master plan, let one assure you.)

Lady Isabella persevered on, despite her apparent loathing of such a demeaning, stereotypical task. It shall never be said the formidable Lady Isabella Swan was a quitter, the great lady herself stated with a face half-covered in cake mixture as her futile attempt at baking fairy cakes exploded in her face once again - _literally._ Yes, cake and all, complete with the "edible" ball bearings.

Once the lady had accomplished her very difficult task and packed her small delicacies (along with some _interesting_ , shall one put it, lunch choices to "spice" up their non-existent relationship) in a cosy wooden basket with a nice patterned blanket _folded_ \- or as close as she could get to the desired goal at any rate - over the top for the lovestruck couple to reminisce over their mutual hatred for one another.

That just sums up a relationship, does it not?

"Honey, dear, come on. It is high-time for our walk in the country," Mr Edward's smug, self-satisfied voice echoed throughout the Swan household's splendour, the noise resonating at a near excruciating level around Lady Isabella's dainty eardrums.

With no obvious intention to lose the little game of chess they had initiated, the lady gritted her teeth painfully, steeled her resolve, and gripped the handle of the basket as she walked over to where her suitor stood awaiting her arrival like a martyr would.

"Do not fret, Mr Edward. One is here," she forced herself to say, plastering on the biggest fake grin one had ever witnessed widen a lady's face.

"Miss Isabella Marie Swan!" A woman's voice shrieked from above the grand staircase that stood tall and proud in the middle of the room. "What have I always told you about the ' _number one_ '?"

Lady Isabella refrained from sighing out her dismay against her Mother - and one is immensely proud of her for doing so. One would not bear it if Mr Edward won purely by default.

"'Always within the family secrets and never, ever within anyone else's'," she grudgingly recited.

Mrs Swan nodded once, briskly. "Good." The tension melted away as she grabbed her only daughter and wrapped her up in a hug, placing a large wad of roses on the top of the basket before she did so.

Mr Edward, who had, prior to this, been patiently watching the love-filled exchange between mother and daughter, directed his attention to the open doorway and hurriedly exclaimed, "Hurry up! Hurry up! The sunshine won't last forever in this blasted country."

One developed the notion that the fine gentleman was not accustomed to having to wait.

Lady Isabella's strained smile broke for the briefest of moments only to scowl at the back of the gentleman's head whilst her Mother's back was turned before it reappeared when the two ladies had completed their annual hug, looking to the world as if it hadn't run away for a second. Lady Isabella is nothing if not a perfectionist, after all.

"Don't forget your basket, Bella," the elder Swan woman reminded the young lady as she handed the picnic over to the _bright, optimistic_ 'couple'.

Mr Edward nodded once to his _other half_ 's Mother. "Not to worry, Mrs Swan, I shall have her back safely well within the hour."

Lady Isabella felt him worm a lazy arm around her waist, drawing her up closer to him, effectively trapping her in his _loving_ embrace. "You can count on me," he promised with a whisper as he guided her out of her _own_ front door as if she had no say whatsoever in where she was directed.

"Goodbye, dears," her Mother called out to them, waving a frail hand by way of farewell. She leaned against the wooden door and sighed wistfully to herself. "Oh, to be young again and in love..." she whispered before walking back inside - intent on sneaking out to see for herself whether Phil Dwyer was available that very evening for some late-night fondue - and leaving her daughter's fate in the hands of a, for want of a better word, psychopath.

It was truly a terrible shame that Lady Isabella didn't share the same sentiment concerning her relationship.

"Let go of one, you great big oaf!" She shrieked loudly as she fought against the shackles of Mr Edward's hand currently binding her to him. "And for the love of everything you hold most dear, cease this infernal running!"

A bubble of honest-to-God laughter was the only response she received.

Ripples of anger began to churn away in her system and, in her rage, she deliberately stuck her left leg out in direct line of his ankle and, thanks to the pro-active running fit Mr Edward was currently locked away in, he tripped.

Listen, when one says "tripped", one doesn't mean a quiet stumble or a small fall. One means Mr Edward properly _tripped_ , as in, he fell down the side of a humongous hill, tumbling down it at ridiculous speed before collapsing with a loud _thud_ in the middle of a deserted forest. And, because his grip on Lady Isabella had tightened to the point of no return as opposed to simply letting go as she had instructed, she joined him for the ride.

The only upside was that Mr Edward ended up breaking her fall for the majority of their radical mode of transport.

"Ow!" Someone groaned.

"Ow!" Someone moaned. "Get off of one's leg this very instant."

"I'm not on your leg!"

"Oh, yes, you are. Your fat, stubby little legs are on _one's_ leg." A beat. "So get them off."

Distinctive sounds of futile shuffling ensued broken only by the collapsed whimper of pain that escaped through sweat-layered lips. One will give three guesses as to whom created that sound - a hint: it did not originate from Lady Isabella.

"I can't move. I - I - Oh my God. I'm going to die, aren't I? I can feel it; my life flashing before my very eyes."

A scoff. "You aren't going to die, you _prat_."

"That dance when I was five. Meeting the lovely Lady Trilla. She was an angel-"

"Uh huh. That's great. Now, if you can just move over slightly then-"

"My Mother's face when she heard I suffered a blow to the back of the skull when I was eleven. Those were the days."

"Very nice. _Interestingly_ nice, in fact. Now could you just _move_?"

"And then there was the time I was fifteen and I courted my very first girl. A young woman called Alyssa. She- she was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. She flew in to my life and out again with such grace."

"Let one guess; she was a butterfly?"

"But nothing, nothing could ever compare to that moment where I - I..."

A sharp noise came from above. Mr Edward, now feeling no pain, began to hyperventilate without any control over the matter, his eyes now screwed tightly shut.

"Oh, dear God, this is it. It is, isn't it? My death?" More shuffling from above, appearing to reply to the man's frightened inquiry. "Please, Lord God, please bless my soul. Please look out for me in heaven."

"Mr Edward..."

"Tell Mother, Father, Alice, Emmett and Billy-Bob that I love them all dearly."

"Mr Edward..."

"Please! Give all my riches and wealth to those who deserve it more than me and please look after me when I'm gone."

"Mr Edward!" Sweat trickled down the man's drenched brow, seeping down his face, over his clenched eyelids until it dripped to the floor with a whimper reminiscent of one previously uttered. "Open your eyes!"

Slowly, cautiously, the suitor from the very depths of hell carefully pried one eye open, forcing him to finally take note of his surroundings and witness the real reason why his being was no longer compromised.

Lady Isabella sat perched on the rock that had broken their slight tumble down the hill with an air of practised grace. One can easily surmise from this sight, no doubt, that the clever young woman had managed to manoeuvre both herself and the leg that had entangled itself with the lady's own so they were no longer stuck together in a mesh of bruised limbs.

"One can see that you have finally returned to your senses," she informed him in a _highly_ sarcastic manner.

Mr Edward's jaw, bless him, was so close to scraping the soil of the ground as he lay there with his mouth opening and shutting in such a way that it reminded one very much a fish.

"I - yes," he settled on lamely.

The lady sitting opposite him picked up the remaining tatters of what was once the decorated picnic basket. "Well done. One took the liberty of peering inside and found that a substantial amount of the food _one_ prepared did not survive the downhill journey." She held up a few weeds, "The flowers also were not so fortunate," she said.

* * *

**Day 2: Quality Family Dinner**

( _read: the most bland mixtures ever told_ )

"Ah. So, Mr Edward, I hear that you have recently inherited your family's business and earnings."

"That is correct, Mrs Swan, I have." He grinned wolfishly at Lady Isabella for a moment before flashing back to the elder woman. "Not to worry, your daughter will be perfectly well protected. I can assure you of that."

Lady Isabella forced a pleasant smile to grace her features once more - refraining from eye rolling at the suitor's insistence that she be safe with him, she had heard it all before. The hesitant parents joyously clapped at that, oblivious to the rising tension present in the room.

"Ah yes. That is splendid to hear."

It would appear that the alpha male dominant in the house had managed to tackle his nerves of five years, Lady Isabella noted with disdain. It was always harder for the young lady to maintain he goal whenever her parents got involved. Although, she had been rather lucky these past few times thanks to one unlucky fellow and a whole host full of chicken. That incident had forever scarred her parents.

One would also have been traumatised beyond belief by that unpleasant experience also. Truly. Trust one's opinion on the matter; it was quite a bloodthirsty act, to put it delicately.

It wasn't pretty when they blew.

Mr Edward simply shot a victorious smirk in the lady's general direction once her simple-minded parents and their short attention spans had returned to their dinner plates and the dead animal that featured heavily there. Lady Isabella answered his smirk with one of her very own signature death glares. Mr Edward wouldn't know what had hit him (metaphorically, not literally, of course - although, one should realise by now that with the lady, _anything_ was possible). This was the time to show the doomed suitor who wore the trousers.

Lady Isabella patiently waited until the unfortunate young man had scooped an incredibly large portion of the meal onto his relatively small fork before she pleasantly asked her parents the following: "How do you feel the economy of Hungary is faring today, Father?"

Mr Swan took a swig of his beer to accompany his swallowed food on the road to digestion. "I believe that the economy is struggling a bit in coping with the lack of sufficient data."

"Yes, yes, yes," Lady Isabella said. "I agree. But how do you think the government should handle the crisis? Personally, I have always believed that the economy would be better served with a few more charities raising support."

Mr Swan paused in his enthusiastic eating to glance thoughtfully at his prized daughter before stealing some off his unhappy wife's plate.

Her Mother smiled sadly. "You may want to inquire about that once he has taken a few more mouthfuls," she offered by way of explanation, much to Mr Edward's blatant confusion.

Lady Isabella eyed the suitor before sighing at his confusion. One is under the impression she had hoped for more than that.

However, the evening wasn't over yet.

"Knock knock."

Mrs Swan was not at all amused with her husband's rather conventional dinner party starters. "Dear, I really don't think that this is the appropriate time for jokes," she insisted.

"No, no," Lady Isabella said with a smile, intent on using this to her advantage. "It's perfect. Isn't it, Mr Edward?"

Mr Edward, who was in the process of eating mid-mouthful, paused, chewed hurriedly and swallowed all while managing a small, sheepish grin to stay plastered on his face.

"Yes, I think it's fine," he coughed.

One does not think that Mr Edward was particularly content with all eyes on him.

"Good," the young lady said. "Father, would you care to repeat what you just said. That would be splendid."

Mr Swan straightened up in his seat, smugness radiating from every pore. "Very well. If you _insist_ ," he glared at his wife before redirecting his attention toward his daughter and her suitor. "Knock knock."

"Whose there?"

"Broken pencil."

"Broken pencil who?"

"Well, I would tell you but it doesn't really have a point to it." He then laughed at his own _pointless_ joke. His daughter, currently on a mission to prove that Mr Edward is not at all compatible with her in any shape or form, made a _point_ to giggle loudly to the participants to dissuade any further advances from being made.

Oh, the things she would do in her anger.

There was silence on Mrs Swan and Mr Edward's part who were both patiently awaiting the return to normality for both Lady Isabella and Mr Swan.

It was a long wait.

Once Mr Swan had finished wiping the remaining traces of mirth from his being, he took note of his wife's sour expression and remarked, "Well that went down like a lead balloon."

Lady Isabella nodded enthusiastically and took great pleasure in watching Mr Edward squirm in discomfort.

It's just so good being bad, the lady had once said.

"Tell another, tell another!" She cried to her Father extremely eagerly, glancing at the gentleman seated to her right.

Mr Swan smiled at his daughter's obvious excitement and praise. "Well, alright then," he pandered to her attention, "What is a sheep's favourite holiday location?"

Mrs Swan sighed while Mr Edward looked on with polite interest in the matter.

This time it was Mr Edward who asked the question, appearing to all with a genuine interest in the horrifically terrible joke, much to Lady Isabella's chagrin.

"I don't know; where?"

"The Baaaa-haaamaaaaas!"

Mr Edward actually _laughed_ at the joke.

That was when Lady Isabella snapped.

In an effort to cool down, she attempted to cut her juicy hot steak in small quarters with minimal success.

"Whatever happened to that potato?" Mr Edward whispered to her in mirth, pointing at the food that had somehow gotten pushed off the plate and onto the table amidst her quest for smaller meat.

Lady Isabella glanced at it for a moment before looking back at the doomed suitor. "It was trying to be independent. It didn't work out very well in the end."

That proved effective in getting Mr Edward to shut up and the rest of the meal progressed in tense silence from then on.

* * *

**Day 3: A Brief Interlude - Letters**

( _read: the awful differences between Mr Edward and Lady Isabella finally come to light_ )

"Oh no," the lady cried once the infamous duo were alone. "You can not send that letter off!"

The poor man just looked at her, startled. "And why can I not?"

Lady Isabella shot him a pitying glare.

"Whatever happened to the letter 'u'?"

"I'm sorry?"

"In the word 'colour'," she chastised as though she were conversing with a simple-minded child as opposed to a fully developed adult male (one believes Lady Isabella hardly notices the difference sometimes). "You have written no 'u' in the word 'colour'. You have clearly misspelt. Oh, one can not stand the shame of it!"

"What?" he cried, indignant at the unfair treatment he was being handed to on a silver platter. "This letter is to my family; I am quite sure that they can understand what I am writing considering the small detail that, oh I don't know, they were the ones to teach me how to spell correctly!"

But the Lady Isabella was hardly paying any heed to the agitated suitor, so engrossed was she in her own thoughts. "Americans: they just don't get it."

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry, little Miss Prim and Proper English...ness," he replied, consumed by his temporary anger, "but at least we Americans actually spell words correctly according to how they are uttered in daily conversation. I am deeply afraid that I can't say the same for you English folk."

That succeeded in buying her attention. The maiden whipped around to face her opponent so hard that her long, flowing hair managed to smack the pair of them in the face. Rather harshly, one might add.

"Oh really? And how did you happen upon that conclusion?"

This time it was as if their roles were reversed; Mr Edward was the chastiser and Lady Isabella was the chastised.

The man in question gave the seething woman a smug smirk. "'Rhyme'," he offered by way of explanation, "Now, where in God's good name did the 'h' and 'r' come from?"

"One believes it to be referred to as a silent letter," she all but hissed at him in defiance. "Or did you not know that? One assumes it must be terribly boring for you to still be existing in the Dark Ages. The world has started to move on without you."

The gentleman appeared frighteningly confused by the string of nonsense - his description one would have you know - leaking from her open mouth.

"Excuse me, I do not live in the Dark Ages..." he began slowly, attempting to comprehend even the slightest piece of the lady's sentence but failing to do even that. "You must forgive me for this in advance, but - were you dropped on your head as a baby?"

The chilling death stare she threw his way served only to confirm his sneaking suspicions.

One would be correct in guessing Mr Edward Cullen quite possibly also felt that shuddering shudder that passed through him when his hazel brown eyes nervously caught sight of Lady Isabella's murderous ones.

Do not judge him. One would be terrified in that difficult situation.

"As opposed to your 'rime'?" She inquired with venom to her bite, spit flying in every noticeable corner as she purposefully mispronounced the word to agitate her suitor even further, press him up to the breaking point before crying out 'I told you so'.

Mr Edward shot Lady Isabella his own take on the lady's death glare. Needless to announce, it failed to achieve the desired effect.

Lady Isabella took pause in her anger. "Did you just throw an epileptic fit on one?"

"What? I - No. And besides, that's not the point I'm trying to make here."

"Well, if you could please enlighten one as to what that may be then perhaps the conversation could be finished before one dies of old age."

Mr Edward glanced at her and sighed. "The point is that you just can't go around dictating to others how they should live their lives."

"One is not 'dictating', as you so eloquently put it, how you should live your life. One couldn't care less about that. No, one is simply expressing the correct opinion on-"

"You see? There you go again! You can't prove that your opinion is the right one or the _correct_ one."

"Why can one not?"

"Because -" Mr Edward shouted his frustration, feeling the urge to start pulling his own hair out. "You just can't do that. There is such a thing as Freedom of Speech."

Lady Isabella was deathly still. "Are you under the impression that one is not aware of that?"

"As a matter of fact - yes! Right at this moment, I am."

Lady Isabella opened her mouth to snap back a retort before clamping it down again. "I am..."

"Yes?"

"Going to tell Mother on you!"

The door shut with a resolute _bang._

* * *

**Day 4: The Fun, Carefree Bet**

( _read: the damnable bet that nearly cost Lady Isabella her dignity and pride all in one hit_ )

_"No."_

_"Come on, please..."_

_"No. One has spoken one's desire and one's desire is to not complete this foul task."_

_"Oh. Oh. Now I see it."_

_"And what, pray tell, might that be?"_

_"You don't think you have a chance against me. You're absolutely right, of course. I am just that good."_

_"One has a chance against everything and anyone; even against slimy little toads in rat's clothing, clutching their pathetic bets in one hand and in the other holds one's dignity and pride."_

_"Then prove you can handle it, you coward."_

_"Fine then, one will. But be prepared to choke on your own words by the end of the day."_

"...and that is how one found oneself in this terribly ludicrous scenario," Lady Isabella completed her retelling of the morning's events with a dramatically long sigh. "Completely unjustified, of course," she added as an afterthought, peering up at her Mother as though seeking justification for her comments.

Her Mother simply shot her a _look_ and plainly asked, "Is that how it was? Truly? No swear words or rude gestures or," she gasped suddenly and grasped Lady Isabella's arms tightly, "please tell me there was no use of the _number one_."

Lady Isabella settled her eyes over the beautifully polished wooden flooring - finding the imaginary lint laying haphazardly amongst the floor _immensely_ interesting. "Well, maybe, one or two incidents occurred..."

The sharp swat on her arm was masked somewhat by her heavily-layered dress although that did not halt the growing sting from laying waste to her pain nerves.

" _Isabella Swan_ ," the elder woman hissed through clenched teeth, "what have I always told you about performing the number one in _public_?"

Her daughter let out a carefully exasperated sigh. "Mother, you are clearly focussing your attentions entirely on the wrong section."

"What? Are you referring to your little bet that you have going with Mr Edward? Because if so, the way I see it, you have no choice but to comply to the terms and conditions now that you have initiated it."

"No!"

"Did you shake on it?" Her Mother inquired with an eye roll at Lady Isabella's pointlessly childish display. "Then you have to go through with it. Or do you wish to be known as Lady Swan: the Coward?"

One should be well aware by now that the option Mrs Swan came up with was never a notion Lady Isabella would ever consider.

"No," she responded sullenly albeit with a grudging attitude.

"Ah, well then. That makes things simple. You have to be nice to _everyone_ \- and that includes him before you persuade yourself otherwise - for the duration of the day."

Mrs Swan did not pause for breath even as Lady Isabella opened her mouth to interject her opinion on the matter.

"And that includes no abuse of the number one, verbally or otherwise. Are we clear on that?"

"Crystal."

Mrs Swan stood up abruptly, smoothed over her skirts and sauntered off over to the door for her daily meeting with Mr Phil from across the road but before she reached it, she turned her head over to the dejected form of the once great Lady Isabella Swan.

"Good luck."

Lady Isabella perked up.

"You're going to need it."

Before slamming hard against the coffee table as her Mother disappeared out through the open door.

Truer words have never before been spoken.

After several painfully humiliating niceties she was coerced into committing like a sin, the final hoop she was forced to jump through came in the form of reading. At an audience. To a small bunch of young children who desired nothing more than _Cinderella_.

"No," Lady Isabella said once Mr Edward proposed the final task to her. "No way."

"Oh, yes, way," he said with a grin. "Come on; it'll be fun! Look, if you're scared, I'll be there to hold your hand."

She whirled around to face him. "One is not ' _scared_ ' as you put it. One is perfectly capable in performing such a demeaning task - one is just choosing not to."

"You mean one is just acting the part of a coward? Understand, of course. That Jacob Black is quite a handful. I'm not sure you'll be up to the challenge."

Lady Isabella opened her mouth to retort but instead snatched the cursed book from his grasp. "Give me that book!"

Half an hour later found Mr Edward and Lady Isabella inside the orphanage with a small group of children sitting patiently in front of them.

"One will kill you for this," she whispered menacingly into his ear before opening up the damnable book with the mantra of _Just get this over!_ coursing through her mind.

"...and they all lived happily ever after. _The. End_ ," she punctuated with gritted teeth as she finally reached the end of the story with little of a dignity left. "Okay, children, this has all been lovely but now, one really has to go-"

A hand shot out to grab her wrist as she began to rise from her chair. "Don't go," a dark haired boy whimpered. "Please."

" _Jacob Black_ ," Mr Edward whispered into her ear by way of explanation. " _He normally hates adults reading children stories to him. He's a right old wolf when he wants to be. You're probably the first adult here he has actually listened to._ "

"Great," she hissed back, mindful of the children, "a wolf cub has developed an infatuation with one. How appropriate," she said sarcastically.

"Miss Swan," Jacob asked innocently. "Why did you not want to read the story to us?"

Lady Isabella's eyes widened fractionally as she turned to whisper in Mr Edward's ear, "You told one that he was _like_ a wolf; you refused to tell one that he also possessed the mannerisms and perceptiveness of one too."

"And if you keep this up, he might suddenly develop the hearing of a wolf too."

Lady Isabella glared at Mr Edward.

"Miss Swan?"

The lady in question searched her brain extensively in order to come up with a decent enough response that would satisfy this child's nosing demands.

"One is just a stickler for standing up for yourself and not relying on anybody else to clean up one's own mess," she offered honestly by way of explanation.

"Whatever do you mean by that?" One girl's voice broke out amongst the pack of wolves - as Lady Isabella had now taken to referring them, one may thank Mr Edward for planting that notion in her head.

"Cinderella believes that the only thing she feels she can really achieve in life is to get married. Give one a break! There is plenty of things a woman could be doing that does _not_ involve preening one self or catering to the demands of a shallow-minded-with-a-blonde-preference-who-is-a-bit-slow-on-the-uptake prince."

Blank stares.

"Who, one might add," she continued on, growing more and more passionate with every passing second, oblivious to the children's mindless confusion and Mr Edward's barely-concealed involuntary snorts of mirth, "appears to only be enticed by her due solely to how she _looks_. How many more ways can you scream _shallow_?"

That was it. Mr Edward could not fully hold back.

The children and Lady Isabella patiently waited until the young gentleman suitor - now definitely the bane of her entire existence - got his sudden onslaught of The Giggles fully under wraps.

"I'm sorry," he said, glancing at his fob watch tucked underneath his rather expensive looking attire (oh, Lady Isabella would hate to smear it with blood but, with the way the suit's owner was behaving that evening, it could be deemed a necessity). "But, I believe that's our cue to leave, isn't it."

He grabbed Lady Isabella's hand and directed her through the open door. "Say goodbye, children."

"Goodbye, Miss Swan," they chorused individually - which rather defeats the purpose of being in _chorus_ , does it not.

Once outside, and now breathing in the cool air of _freedom_ , Lady Isabella sighed happily. "Ah, yes. One can finally relax now that this horrid bet has been over with."

She glanced over at Mr Edward, who looked as if he might be ill at any moment.

One hopes he harboured no plans of tipping the contents of his stomach on Lady Isabella. One fears that that wouldn't end up going down well.

"What is wrong?"

Mr Edward muttered something under his breath.

"Speak up, will you! One cannot hear you!"

"I said: The bet had already finished several hours prior. You did not have to come here and help out at the orphanage. I thought you were already aware of that."

There was silence for a couple of moments while Lady Isabella calmly processed this information before she yelled:

"You mean to tell one that all _this_ ," she gestured wildly around them to emphasise her point in case he was a bit slow on the uptake, "will have been for nothing?"

Mr Edward grinned. "Well, we got to spend some quality time together, am I right? That's not nothing."

The young lady opened her mouth to let out a torrent of repressed emotions and pent-up anger but promptly shut it. "One may be correct in that statement," she agreed as all the little pieces of knowledge she had gathered during the time spent in his company for the day flooded back to her.

Despite herself, Lady Isabella smiled.

Her suitor proffered his arm to her," Shall we?"

She took it. "We shall."

* * *

**Day 5: The Secret Garden**

( _read: the monstrous garden that even she, who had been living there ever since she could remember, had never found_ )

Lady Isabella had often noted the strangest happenings that accompanied her demonic suitor that had arisen from the very pits of hell with the sole purpose to _annoy the generous and kind-hearted lady to death_. (Her words; do not blame one for a crime one did not commit.)

Most of the ideas this 'generous' and 'kind-hearted' lady remarked upon she dismissed as part of Mr Edward's downright ludicrous personality and traits. She had even gone so far as to even stop and debate - she even drew up a _list_ one would have you know - the mystery that had the misfortune to name as Lady Isabella Swan's suitor but had never gone as for as to solve the mystery herself.

Let one explain this mystery Lady Isabella is clearly referring to:

Mr Edward Cullen _disappears_.

Now, now, now. Not a cause for alarm, let one reassure you of that. The suitor remains firmly integrated into the Swan residence for the remainder of the foreseeable future - much to the young lady's _delight_ (read: to her absolute livid rage) -, however, that doesn't mean that Lady Isabella wasn't prepared to pull out all the stops in order to solve this mysterious mystery.

(Bearing in mind that if she ever used her highly-qualified powers of deduction to figure out one has uttered the following, she would gladly take one's head as an ornament so please refrain from informing her on one.)

Lady Isabella is getting far too used to the grating sound of the annoying Mr Edward, one sees that the young lady can not comprehend the relaxing piece and quiet when it arrives, so reliant was she on the suitor to provide some excellent noise interference.

So, Lady Isabella did the only thing she knew how to do: begin to hatch the beginnings of what was surely to be the most magnificent plan in the whole of history.

It was completely perfect. There was absolutely no guarantee that one would fail - oh, yes, it was _that_ good.

Mr Edward appeared to disappear somewhere between one pm and five pm on the dot. Before he suddenly vanishes into thin air, the very last thing he had been caught by her Mother involves drinking copious amounts of tea - it would seem as if her habits were beginning to rub off onto him, she gladly took note with a certain glee. After he had complete that very taxing task, he would nod swiftly to Mrs Swan, grab his top hat and coat and simply, for want of a better word, _disappear_.

But this time, Lady Isabella would be his unsuspecting company as they journeyed off into the unknown.

Lady Isabella, who had taken up silent residence at the very pinnacle of the stairs in preparation of this moment for over two hours - he was _late_ it would seem -, witnessed the suspicious Mr Edward speak his farewell to her _Mother_ \- there was no jealousy in that tone whatsoever - before quickly scuttling away and shutting the front door with little more than a whimper.

Which was odd, Lady Isabella frowned, she hadn't noticed he had fixed the squeakiness of the door.

She shook her head to dispel those random thoughts - they had no business taking up residence inside her head. Not when she had much more important, professional thoughts to think about.

She took off down the grand staircase with as much speed as she could muster in such a tight-fitting dress (she was gasping for breath like a drowning man when she emerged at the end - subtlety be damned) and all but dashed out of the door, where it slammed shut in her absence.

It would seem she would never get the hang of being silent, if that was anything to go by.

Immediately inhaling some of that sweet, _glorious_ oxygen, her sharp hearing picked up the sound of whistling. More specifically, the tune of _Greensleeves._

Lady Isabella frowned. _Who knew Mr Edward could whistle..._

Nevertheless, she traced the source of the whistling to its master and gasped with what she found.

There, before her, in all of its infinite majesty lay the most beautiful sight she had ever clamped her brown, eager eyes on.

Tiny forests of roses decorated the grassy ground, nests for passing butterflies and bumble bees as they took brief refuge. The sun shone down through the many trees lined up in rows and when it shone just _there_ the light caught sight of the morning dew left over on the leaves, causing them to sparkle just so.

All in all, it was _heavenly_. Even Lady Isabella's stone cold heart melted at the sight.

But nothing could have matched Mr Edward's startled facial features. They were an absolute _picture._

"What- what is this place?" She breathed in childlike wonderment, her gaze roaming from corner to corner, unable to find any one place to capture.

Mr Edward eventually found his voice. "Oh, its... I was just doing some exploring and happened upon it, as it were." He glanced up at the amazed lady and questioned softly, "Do you like it?"

"Like it? I-" _love it_ was what her fascinated brain was going to say before her cold-mannered instincts kicked in and she promptly shut off any emotion from her face. "How did you even know about it? One didn't."

If Mr Edward was, in any way, upset about the change in heart the lady in front of him displayed, he didn't show it, seeming to take a leaf out of Lady Isabella's book.

Although one just thinks that he was happy just to have her here with him.

"I told you - I was just exploring the area," he said. He glanced at her. "How did you get here then?"

Lady Isabella crossed her arms. "Well, if you hadn't been so mysterious and disappearing all the time then one wouldn't have felt it necessary to come after you."

He blinked. "You- you felt it necessary to come after me?" he questioned softly. Lady Isabella's eyes widened. She hadn't intended for that one to slip out.

"No!" She squeaked. Perhaps a lower tone would suffice. She deepened her voice and made a second attempt, "No. Of course not. You must have misheard one."

Mr Edward's knowing smile did not help the situation.

Lady Isabella huffed. "Well, what are you even doing here then?"

The quick conversation change did not escape Mr Edward's notice although he happily responded to the fair lady's inquiry all the same, "I like to come up here sometimes," he said.

"Correction: _all_ of the time."

"Yes, yes, alright then. _All_ of the time," Mr Edward corrected with a small eye roll. "I just like the freedom of being on your own without all of the..."

"The pressure of having to fit in," Lady Isabella guessed. Mr Edward clicked his fingers at her.

"Yes, that's right. I hate the pressure of having to do what someone else is expecting you to do, you know," he glanced over at Lady Isabella. "For once, I just want to do what _I_ want to do. For _me_ ; not for anybody else."

Lady Isabella placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head inquisitively. "Then why don't you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What is stopping you from doing that?"

Mr Edward thought on it for a moment before he shrugged as realisation dawned on his face, as apparent by his excited facial features. "Nothing."

"Right," she said. "Then why don't you- _Oh, goodness gracious one, whatever do you think you are doing_?"

Mr Edward had, somewhere between her passionate speech, been slowly growing closer and closer to the unseeing lady until he was right up into her personal bubble. "Exactly what you just advised me do."

Lady Isabella frowned. "One did not mean for you to come up and start attacking one's personal space."

"No, no, not that," he said with a smirk. "This." And, with that, he ever so gently, started leaning down, his gaze having been drawn to Lady Isabella's moistened lips ever since she had first set foot in the secret garden, his eyes never leaving her face for fear of being served some potentially rather life-threatening injuries.

Let one just say; it wasn't that uncommon around Lady Isabella.

Speaking of the young lady, her emotions began to drift towards the nervous state of affairs as she took note of Mr Edward's moving head. Unconsciously, her own head tilted back until they were but a hairs breadth apart; so close that they could feel each other's warm breath on their ever so _cool_ skin.

"Lady Isabella! Mr Edward! Where have you two gone to?"

_That,_ most definitely, ended up severing the moment with a sharp knife, the two party members physically jumping away from each other as if burned.

Mr Edward pointed at somewhere behind them. "That came from-?"

"Yeah."

And off they went.

* * *

**Day 6: The Ballroom Dance from Hell**

( _read: exactly what it says on the tin_ )

Thanks to Mr Edward Cullen's sudden appearance at the Swan family household (which, by extension, also includes several of the surrounding, snobby houses, three of whom take infinite pleasure in poking fun and backstabbing other parts of the rich society and the rest simply involve themselves because they have absolutely nothing else to do) the neighbouring houses made the relatively _un_ wise decision - concerning Lady Isabella, at the very least - to host a ball as a toast to the new, happy couple.

Ah, the rich: stealing money and starting rumours.

Mr Edward Cullen had glanced worryingly over to his 'other half', having finally learned his lesson in directly disobeying Lady Isabella's terms and conditions, when the _joyous_ (read: horrifying) news breached the Swan household and integrated itself into the occupants' unwilling brains.

At least, that was how Mr Swan had ever so cleverly put it.

Mrs Swan also bore a slightly nervous expression as all the other instances depicting her one and only child as the monster from underneath the bed sprang to mind - instances in which men had been castrated for less.

She looked apologetically over to her daughter's suitor at that one.

However, all the scenarios and other situations from before had never taught any of them how to deal with a nightmare more terrifying than the one currently being portrayed.

For Lady Isabella sat up, straightened her posture, pursued her painted lips before sucking in a _very_ deep breath and then - wait for it - she smiled.

Not one trace of falseness could be acknowledged on that face; and one should know for a fact as Mr Swan had immediately withdrawn his magnifying glass and began to forensically analyse every atom of his daughter in his quest for the truth.

Of course, he didn't quite manage to complete his high-brow scientific examination as Lady Isabella had quickly but surely knocked the offending item clean out of his grasp within the first few seconds. No one could know for sure - there was no foretelling the amount of insufficient data that had no been produced as a result of that one movement.

"Stop it," she had snapped with a glare, "one is not an invalid after all."

Everyone internally breathed a sigh of relief at that. _That's more like it_ was the thought running through every one of their head's. Or that was before the unthinkable happened.

"What are you doing?" Mr Edward inquired, a high pitched tone creeping through as he watched the lady begin to brush her hair.

_Gently._

"The Newton's are hosting us a ball," she smirked, "and who are we to deny them this privilege?"

All remaining members glanced at each other. With real fear.

Lady Isabella rolled her eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake. You are all perfectly safe. It is only the Newton's that have to keep both eyes open now."

"That's what I was afraid of," Mrs Swan murmured under her breath. Too low for Lady Isabella to hear but reasonably loud enough for both Mr Edward and her husband to hear, who both nodded their agreement.

Lady Isabella turned to her Mother sharply. "Come now, Mother. We must get ready."

"What Now?"

"Yes!" She spun around to face her suitor and Father and ordered, "You two had better also get ready. We are going to a ball; better look presentable. We'll meet back here in ten minutes." And with that, she turned, grabbed her Mother's hand, and dashed up the stairs, leaving the others a dazed and confused mess behind them.

"Well," Mr Edward said. "That happened."

Exactly ten minutes later, the four of them arrived in the dining room and immediately called for a carriage to take them to the grand ball.

For some rather strange, odd reason, Mr Edward was not at all pleased about going which surprised Lady Isabella has she had always assumed that he was the type of gentleman who would have liked nothing more than to twirl a lady around in his arms, capturing her in every way that counted.

Lady Isabella shook herself from those thoughts, however, as soon as they arrived.

"We're here," Mr Swan announced as though the rest of them had forgotten they had eyes. One detected a solemn note in his tone that wasn't there previously.

Perhaps it was his sixth sense informing him of the dangers here.

Lady Isabella eyed the other guests in the ball with distaste. One could not see how this could be found enjoyable, she thought as she watched couples spin around in a slow, moving waltz.

"Ah, Mr and Mrs Swan. Oh and Lady Isabella and Mr Edward, however could we forget you? I am so glad you've made it," an elderly woman said with a smile. _Mrs Newton._

Lady Isabella forced a small smile of her own to come out and play. "Yes, well, however could we refuse such a glorious invitation? In fact, now that you have brought it up; we are beginning to feel the undeniable pull of the dancing. Mr Edward."

She grabbed the poor man by the lapels of his jacket, still not tearing her sights from Mrs Newton. One is under the impression Lady Isabella does not trust this woman from harming her whilst her back was turned.

Which was perfectly understandable, of course. Mrs Newton had developed quite a history over the long, long years.

"So, um," Mr Swan coughed, "anyone fancy a cup of tea?"

"What was _that_ for?" was the first coherent thing that popped out of Mr Edward's breathless state once he was certain his beating heart wasn't about to suddenly leap out of his chest and smother him from the intensity of it all.

"Had to get away from her," was all Lady Isabella said. "And besides, one had always wondered how well you would fare on the dance floor."

"Oh- _oh_ ," Mr Edward breathed, slightly easier than before one should imagine. He leaned closer, if at all possible, and whispered close to her ear, "And for how long have you been entertaining this fantasy then?"

Lady Isabella smacked him for his teasing just as a slow waltz began playing. She watched as he started to squirm.

"We don't have to- I mean, if you don't want to, that is- Then..."

The lady arched a brow at the man's stuttering. "Oh, relax," she said as she placed a hand on his firm shoulder, feeling the tension in his limbs, as he cautiously placed a tentative hand on her waist. "And here one was firmly under the impression that you were such a confident man," she teased.

Mr Edward huffed in annoyance although one could detect a certain _gleam_ in his eyes at her teasing. The pair began to dance, albeit somewhat nervously in comparison to some of the other much more _skilled_ couples amongst them, in relative silence until it was broken by Mr Edward.

"So..." he paused as if desperately searching for something to say; for something to break the awkwardness that had begun to develop between them, "how are you?"

Lady Isabella burst out into fits of giggles.

Mr Edward knitted his brows together in confusion. "Have I said something?" He turned around and noted that several of the other dancers had paused momentarily in their dancing to glare at the duo from across the hall.

She pressed a delicate hand to her mouth in order to stop any escaping tendrils of sound as she shook her head.

"Are you really so lost for something to say that you have to resort to asking probably _the_ most asked inquiry in the world?" She questioned with a smile, "You? The great Mr Edward Cullen? So lost for words?"

Mr Edward smiled at that. "Yes, I suppose it's true, that, isn't it. It's just that whenever we two seem to be alone, we always end up arguing and I would really rather we not do that today, if that's all the same to you."

"And why ever is that? Oh; don't tell me. You don't want to have the spectators around here being witness to your failures as a suitor - trying and failing to woo one."

"No - No. That's not it," he said with slight conviction, although there was an undercurrent of alarm in his tone.

"Then what, pray tell, is your reasoning behind this?"

"I just- don't want to have to fight today. Not when I..."

Lady Isabella was beginning to grow impatient at the gentleman's inadequacy when it came to spitting out whatever was troubling him. It was such an unattractive quality and one that she was certain was going to be put immediately on her list once this day was all but over with. "Now when you _what_?"

"Not when I love you!"

All the couples stopped dancing. The music slowed down until it grinded to a sudden halt.

And all the while Lady Isabella was staring at Mr Edward in complete and utter disbelief.

" _What_?"

Mr Edward surveyed their surroundings and indeed found that every single soul in the room was focused entirely on them. He winced. Perhaps he should have timed that a bit better.

Yes, one believes, perhaps he should.

Nevertheless, he placed his palm on top of the hand that was previously latched on to his shoulder and stared deep into her eyes as he said the next words, "I love you, Lady Isabella Swan. I love everything about you."

Lady Isabella stared at him for a moment, tears beginning to pool in her eyes as she whispered, "No, you don't. You _can't_."

"And why can't I?" He gestured wildly about the room. "Look, see, now we have the whole room standing as witness to my testimony: I love Lady Isabella Marie Swan, just in case any of you were confused about that."

He gazed back at the sole target of his affections. "And I also know that you must feel something for me. I know you do."

"One is not good for you," she managed to choke out under the intensity of the interrogation.

Mr Edward shook his head vehemently. "Ah, see, there, now, _there_ , I would have to disagree with you - not that I don't on most other things as well."

A chorus of chuckles resonated although neither Mr Edward nor Lady Isabella focussed their attention on that.

"You are what is best for me. Just you. Just Lady Isabella Swan; just be her forever and I will be content."

Lady Isabella shook her head. "One can _not_."

Mr Edward nodded once, short and sharp, as he contemplated his next move. "Alright, then, well, I guess you leave me with no other alternative," he said and for one horribly sickening moment she thought he would simply walk out of those doors and disappear entirely out of her life.

But, quite differently, instead, he got down on one knee, still clutching her hand in his and said, "Will you marry me?"

The room began to spin as Lady Isabella's mind went into shut-down mode at the proposal. _This is just a dream_ , she tried to convince herself, even shutting her eyes tightly and wishing herself awake but to no avail.

She glanced all around the big grand ball room; the ball being thrown in her's and Mr Edward's honour as a couple and at all the people, settling on each and every one of them and committing them to her memory forever. However, when she looked at the kneeling man before her, she found that, despite her claims of an inner strength, she lacked the power to be able to hold his gaze for more than a few seconds at the most.

"One- _I am_ sorry," she forcefully choked out before dashing frantically for the exit and into the cool night air, beginning to suck in oxygen at record speed. Hot, wet tears began to stream with abandon down her face, running her makeup down it like a fountain but she paid it no heed. She welcomed the distraction. She wasn't good for him.

_It's better this way_ a traitorous thought in her mind said but she found that she could not agree as how could the pain compare to anything else? But she would only ruin him, after all. It's who she was. It was in her DNA.

_"Ten days? Please," he scoffed. "I can have you falling for me by the end of the week,_ " was what he had said when their game of chess had been announced and, despite everything, she found herself laughing almost comically.

Because Mr Edward had lied; he hadn't gotten her to fall for him by the end of the week.

He had gotten her to fall for him in just six days.

* * *

**Day 7: Loneliness and Hope**

( _read: love_ )

Mr Edward Cullen was gone.

At first, those words failed to initiate any kind of reaction from the young, suitor-less lady. There were no grand celebrations being held to commemorate the young man's sudden disappearance; the words had not fully sunken in as of yet. As it stood, the Swan family were still busily awaiting the young man's call or Lady Isabella's ear-aching screech, signalling to the elders that a screaming match was to occur in no less than four to six seconds so they had better ready their earplugs or else.

There was nothing. No random dinner conversations; no boxing matches between Mr Edward and the young Swan lady; no _nothing_. There was only the quiet - the never-ending silence. Not even the infuriating _tick-tock tick-tock_ of the clock broke the sudden veil of quiet that had settled firmly over the family as Mr Edward had laid claim to that as his one and only parting present to take away with him.

(Apparently, Mr Edward has been noted to be fond of big, old grandfather clocks. Lady Isabella had humorously remarked to her parents upon their return from the disaster that was the ball that she would 'use this as great blackmail potential' before finally realising that the gentleman who had single-handedly forced her life into a living hell had gone. By all rights, she should have been ecstatic but all she felt was alone. And the silence.)

One is under the impression that Lady Isabella was not one for the silence. Nor should she have been. An ego the size of hers could never sustain without an audience. It was unheard of!

Mr Edward Cullen was gone.

The impending news blazed like a wildfire all through the Rich Village: Mr Edward Cullen had graciously accepted Mr Stanley's proposal to marry his esteemed daughter, the almighty Lady Jessica Stanley. The wedding was to be held that very same day. _Today_ the Swan's had all voiced with a start.

Mrs Swan inquired as to whether or not they should crash the wedding just for the sake of crashing it, as punishment for the Stanley's unwise decision to exempt only them from the wedding, citing the belief that only misery could come from the reunion of Lady Isabella and Mr Edward, especially with tears.

Lady Isabella had opted to stay behind when she heard that, not wishing to bring her former suitor to tears.

Mr Swan hesitantly pointed out that Mr Stanley meant _her_ who would be crying a river and they journeyed to the wedding with haste.

Because Mr Edward Cullen may be gone for someone but not for Lady Isabella. One should realise by now that nobody threatened Lady Isabella's toys - not, that is, if they possessed a burning desire to keep their vital organs intact.

After a very taxing half hour in which Swan family got ready in record timing and managed to journey to the wedding just in time for it to start, the family of three finally arrived and sat down in an empty pew (with Mr and Mrs Swan inwardly praying that they hadn't just stolen an unsuspecting family's seat for the farce of a wedding) as they waited for the ceremony to start.

It would appear that they didn't have long to wait

"I'm bored," Lady Isabella complained when they were five minutes into the ceremony.

"Hush!"

Just at that opportune moment, as fate and hilarity would have it, Mr Swan burped loudly. It was probably the loudest burp one had heard in one's whole life.

And _that_ was saying something.

Lady Jessica whipped around so hard to glare at the source of the disruption that her hair ended up whacking her in the head painfully. One was surprised her face didn't immediately crack in half from the force of it all.

Peering around, one could witness the majority of the _show guests_ (read: the wealthy idiots being paid to go) bearing the same resentment first presented by Lady Jessica for interrupting the excuse of a wedding. And none were more aggressive than her parents.

Lady Isabella and Mr Edward were the only ones who seemed at all amused by the ordeal, a small smirk both gracing their features.

A polite but hurried cough came from the direction of the vicar as the man pointedly glanced at Mr Swan.

"I'm sorry. I've got indigestion," Lady Isabella's Father sheepishly explained as a blush stained his cheeks bright pink.

"Oh really?" A snobby older woman scathingly replied. "And how did you work that one out? What, did you finally find even the tiniest scrape of brain hiding inside that remarkably empty head of yours?"

For future reference, of course, one could always trust Mrs Stanley to snobbishly prod deeper into any given situation and embarrass a poor soul even further.

Chuckles resonated throughout the church at the woman's rude interrogations. Mrs Stanley beside the groom - and even the vicar himself - couldn't hold back their feminine giggles. It would appear that only the Swans and the Cullens had any notion regarding unjustified unfairness, if the evil stares they shot an anybody who dared to make a mockery of the Swan name was anything to go by.

"No," Mr Swan said, oblivious to the rising tension, "It's just a gut feeling."

Nobody really knew how to respond to that one.

"Shall we carry on?" The vicar questioned to no one in particular, having quelled the feminine outburst. "Excellent! Right then. If anybody has any objections as to why these two should not be joined together in holy matrimony forever more, step forth now."

Lady Isabella rose on shaky legs. "I object."

Gasps sounded all through the church as mixed reactions played out before her: Lady Jessica damn near fainted; the vicar held his head in his hands and murmured something that sounded suspiciously along the lines of _Please God end my suffering_ ; the Cullens all shared amused grins with one another; and the Swans simply sat back and pretended that Lady Isabella had nothing to do with them.

But the real reaction she had been waiting for from the man stood at the altar never came. Lady Isabella sighed.

"I don't beg," she began. "I am categorically _not_ a beggar. And yet, here I am: begging. On Christmas Day."

She paused. "Who even gets married on Christmas Day? That is such a stupid time to get married, don't you all think?"

Silence.

Lady Isabella pointed an accusing finger at Mr Edward. "You have ruined me. I have been ruined. Before I was all about being me: the cold, ruthless Lady Isabella - the _one_ who traumatised millions and inflected pain on the few other billion left in the world. And I _enjoyed_ it.

"But now you made me see things your way: independence, freedom of speech and even _love_. And I absolutely hated it."

Lady Isabella stared at Mr Edward dead in the eye, peering deep into his very soul. "Until you made me love it."

Soft sighs of pitiful _awwing_ filled up the otherwise silent silence. Lady Isabella glared at them all until they promptly shut their mouths, averting their nosy eyes elsewhere.

Only the Cullen family refused to participate in the annoyance, for which Lady Isabella was immensely grateful for. However, they all bore beaming smiles on their faces - resulting in a nauseating feeling beginning to bubble up in her petite stomach - all except for one blonde woman who glared at her with all her might.

Lady Isabella glared right back.

The woman looked so startled at that that she immediately stopped her (rather pointless really when compared to our young lady here) death glare to stare at in confusion at Lady Isabella, the latter of whom tried so hard not to let her smugness show at having won their staring competition.

No, really, one can assure you she did.

Mr Edward let out a small surprised squeak at her previous statement, redirecting Lady Isabella's attention to the man whom she had just publicly humiliated herself in front of.

"What did you just say?"

Lady Isabella now found herself experiencing the humiliation she had previously managed to keep at bay.

"Well, I said that I... It means that I..." she stuttered.

"Yes?" The audience awaited, scarcely breathing due to the anticipation. Even the vicar portrayed a relatively interested expression.

"It means that I love you!"

Silence.

Lady Isabella appeared shocked at her outburst, having not expected that. Although no one could have been more surprised than one Mr Edward Cullen.

He slowly walked over to her as if in a daze. "Did you just say that-"

"Say that I loved you - yes," she repeated, as though repeating it would have made it seem all the more real in her head.

Slowly, ever so _slowly_ , he reached out and cupped her jaw, tracing the jaw line with his thumb as his mind struggled to comprehend the one sentence - that one, three worded sentence - that he had been wishing and praying would ever be uttered just being thrown his way. It was all he could have ever dreamed of and more.

"Lady Isabella," he said calmly, removing his hand from where it had been resting gently against her soft cheek and distancing himself from her. The woman in question tried not to let her heartache show on her face at his movements. _Well, it was her own fault, after all. She had been the one to purposefully push him away, knowing what it would result in. But she hadn't known then, hadn't allowed herself to know what she really felt for him. And now she never would because of her own mistakes._

_Her fault. It was all her fault._

"Will you marry me?"

A strangled gasp emanated from somewhere in the church.

One believes Lady Jessica has fainted.

A groan emanated from somewhere within the church.

One believes the vicar has just fainted also.

Lady Isabella stared in shock at the doomed suitor she had desperately tried to purge from her life and spoke with such conviction the one word everyone was all dying to hear.

"Yes."

Mr Edward moved in and captured her lips within his own as the rest of the church resulted in chaotic confusion and such _drama_.

But neither Mr Edward nor Lady Isabella paid any notice to it, so wrapped up in one another were they.

Mr Edward and Lady Isabella together; as it should be. Living happily ever after.

( _read: The End_ )


End file.
